Page 96 of His to Possess
I shivered, but not from the cold. The weight of my decision to pose for Luka's painting pressed down on me. It was a risk, a desperate attempt to reach out to Rex in a language he might understand - the language of art and possession. But would he see it that way? Or would he only see betrayal?
My mind raced with possibilities. What if he wasn't even there? What if he had refused to come, still angry and hurt by my departure? The thought made my stomach churn. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold in the warmth that seemed to be escaping me with every passing second.
Suddenly, a collective gasp rose from the crowd below. My eyes snapped open, and I leaned forward, straining to hear more. What was happening? Did Luka unveil the painting? Was Rex there? The questions swirled in my mind, each one more urgent than the last.
I held my breath, waiting for any sign, any clue as to what was unfolding beneath me. The silence that followed the gasp was deafening, stretching on for what felt like an eternity. My heart pounded so loudly I was sure it must be audible even over the distant murmur of the crowd.
In this moment of suspense, I was acutely aware of how much I had risked. My reputation, my career, my heart - all of it hung in the balance. And for what? For a man who might not even understand or accept what I was offering?
But even as doubt crept in, I couldn't help but hope. Hope that Rex would see the painting and understand the depth of my feelings. Hope that he would recognize the vulnerability I had laid bare for him. Hope that, somehow, this grand gesture would bridge the chasm between us.
I couldn't bear the cold any longer. My body shook as I retreated inside, closing the balcony doors behind me. The warmth of the room enveloped me, but it did little to ease the chill that had settled deep in my bones. I stood there, transfixedby the glittering cityscape beyond the glass. Chicago's lights twinkled like stars, a beautiful distraction from the turmoil within.
My fingers traced idle patterns on the cool surface of the window. I was lost in thought, wondering what was happening downstairs, when suddenly the air in the room shifted. My breath caught in my throat. I didn't need to turn around to know who was there. Rex.
My pulse thundered so loudly I was sure he must hear it. I wanted to face him, to see his reaction, but fear rooted me to the spot. What if I turned and saw anger in his eyes? Or worse, disgust or indifference?
"Laurel." His voice was low, rough with emotion.
I closed my eyes, savoring the sound of my name on his lips. It had been so long. Too long.
I sensed him approaching, but I couldn't bring myself to turn around. My heart raced as I felt his presence behind me, so close I could almost feel the heat radiating from his body. Yet, he didn't touch me. The tension in the air was palpable, thick with unspoken words and emotions.
"You're here," Rex said in the lowest, most awed voice I had ever heard from him. His words made me tremble, and I had to grip the windowsill to steady myself.
I took a shaky breath, trying to find my voice. "I am," I whispered, still facing the window.
"The painting…" Rex started, his voice trailing off. I could hear the confusion, the hurt, and something else I couldn't quite place in his tone.
I finally turned to face him, my heart pounding so hard I feared it might burst from my chest. His eyes were intense, searching mine for answers. "I needed you to see," I said, my voice barely audible. "To understand."
He took a step closer, his gaze never leaving mine. "Understand what, Laurel? That you'd let another man paint you? That you'd expose yourself to the world?"
His words stung, but I stood my ground. "No, that I'm not just another piece in your collection. That I'm real, vulnerable, and…" I paused, swallowing hard before continuing, "and that I'm yours, if you want me."
A mix of emotions flashed across his face. Surprise, confusion, and something that looked dangerously like hope. "Mine?" he breathed, his hand reaching out but stopping just short of touching my face.
I nodded. "I thought if I showed you, if I made myself vulnerable in a way you'd understand… maybe you'd see me. Really see me."
His hand finally made contact with my cheek, his touch so gentle it made me want to weep. "Laurel," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I've always seen you. How strong you are, how fierce. That's what terrified me."
I leaned into his touch, closing my eyes for a moment. When I opened them, his gaze was so intense it took my breath away. "Then why did you push me away?" I asked, needing to understand.
His thumb brushed away a tear. "Because I didn't know how to keep you without breaking you. I've never wanted someone the way I want you. It scared me. But you matter to me to such a point, I couldn't trust myself."
I reached up, placing my hand over his on my cheek. "And now?"
His eyes darkened, filled with a sorrow that made my chest ache. He swallowed hard, and I could see the struggle playing out across his features.
"Laurel," he said, his voice low and rough. "You know who I am. What I am. I won't change, even for you." His words hit melike a physical blow, but I forced myself to stay silent, to let him continue. "The scars of my life, the perversion of my ways, my consuming need for control - that's part of me. I can't carve that out of me, no matter how much I might want to."
I felt tears prickling at the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them back. Instead, I found myself smiling, a small, sad smile that seemed to surprise him.
"I know," I said softly. "I've thought about it. A lot, actually. And I was torn, Rex. Torn between what I thought I should want and what I actually want."
His brow furrowed, confusion replacing the sorrow in his eyes. "What are you saying?"
I took a deep breath, steeling myself. "You may not be able to change, Rex. But you've shown me that you can evolve. What you did in Paris… that proves it."
